


leave me here forevermore (I've found the peace I've been searching for)

by girlsarewolves



Category: I Frankenstein (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Multi, OT3, Platonic Romance, Romantic Friendship, Sappy Ending, Slow Build, lowkey romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 02:46:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5189222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keziah finds that her and Ophir's path keeps crossing with Adam's, and the three find that maybe they don't mind so much. </p><p>(Or, the OT3 AU nobody asked for, where two gargoyles take in a stray Frankenstein monster whenever he wanders onto their doorstep only to realize they've fallen for him.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	leave me here forevermore (I've found the peace I've been searching for)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: What even is my life? I don't know. I rewatched I, Frankenstein yesterday, got feels for this ot3 again, and decided to finally write something for it. Then it got way out of hand and here I am, over six thousand words later. This is mostly AU after the prologue. It loosely follows certain events of the movie, but with a Keziah/Ophir/Adam spin. Title is from Depeche Mode's "Angel of Love" - which, like I, Frankenstein, I do not own any rights to. Feedback very much appreciated!

* * *

They find him again, another ninety or so years after the first time. As vicious and angry and untrusting as ever, snarling like an abused dog even at quiet voices and patiently outstretched hands.  
  
It matters little that they helped him - again - fight off demons attempting to take him back to Naberius. It matters little that they were the ones who armed him and offered him shelter but did not stop him from leaving.  
  
Adam is made of so many men but was treated as a beast and as such has become wary and half rabid as any creature of the cold and the dark and the wild.  
  
Ophir is easy smiles and camaraderie; Keziah is stoic silence keeping arms length.  
  
Perhaps it is easy for Ophir to try connection with this manmade man because his countenance is not unlike her own.  
  
Perhaps it is recognition of something in herself that causes Keziah to give him distance.  
  
But after a time Ophir's easy calm and Keziah's distance - without so much sharpness and coldness as before - seem to win Adam over. Or maybe he is not as fond of isolation as he had once led them to believe. He lingers for a time once the mess is cleaned and the coast is clear and the conversation with Ophir, met with more grunts and nods than words, is still ongoing.  
  
He is not human, not animal; neither gargoyle or demon. And so Keziah is not quite sure what to make of him, but she humors Ophir, and she indulges her own curiosity, and plays nice, keeps quiet. Adam is an anomaly that Gideon would have destroyed; their queen would see redeemed.  
  
She wonders what it is Adam truly wants.  
  
Life? He is still alive, yes, but she does not think his self-imposed isolation in the unexplored cold is living so much as existing. Maybe that is enough for him; she thinks, based on the way he uses more words the more Ophir talks, it is not.  
  
And she wonders what it is Ophir wants.  
  
Companionship? She thought that was her job, and before now there had been no complaints. On his side, at least. Yet for all their years as partners and warriors together, their looks last longer and their touches are too heavy.  
  
Maybe Adam is a reprieve; maybe Ophir is doing this for his own sake, and her's, as for Adam's. Maybe all three of them needed a break from the heavy loneliness of their lives.  
  
So she slips herself into the conversation, little by little, and enjoys the lightness of Ophir's laugh, and the way Adam slowly lowers his guard, just enough to enjoy their company. She likes the warm feeling in her chest when she does the same.  
  
It is too good to last.  


* * *

  
  
Gideon arrives in the morning, as Ophir and Keziah are readying to return to their posts for rest, as Adam is giving them a looser smile that doesn't look painful and pulled into place by too-tight stitches, as they are saying good day and not goodbye.  
  
There is a bond now, thin and loose but still a tether between the three of them, woven together by offering Adam companionship without judgment and conversation without digging up the parts of the past that hurt. Sharing themselves without asking him to do the same.  
  
Then Gideon arrives with new orders from their queen, a new cluster of demons to the south, far to the south, and with a stern expression that quickly turns into an angry scowl at the sight of Frankenstein's creation.  
  
It was a good night, a respite from isolation for one and from constant vigilance for two; from being nothing but the world has told them they are for three.  
  
A monster unfit for civilization; soldiers of stone with no earthly ties.  
  
But Gideon arrives, and seems to slice  through that tentative bond between the three of them with his axe, though he never touches his weapon.  


* * *

  
  
"I thought he was going to the north, away from the humans?"  
  
Ophir's head is bowed, but his eyes are angry. It has been ages since Keziah saw Ophir angry; not since she walked alone into a demon trap, not since their tongues got away with them, almost speaking blasphemies.  
  
"He only wanted some warmth and the comfort of noise, hearing and sensing others near," Keziah steps in, not so much angry as disappointed. Her fingers ache to reach out, but Gideon is already in a mood; touching Ophir to comfort would not be well received. She's seen the suspicion in his eyes before.  
  
"And so he risked human lives for a selfish indulgence?"  
  
"He did not enter the village, he had no way to know demons were here." Ophir's head is unbowed, eyes hard and defiant in a way that is only tolerated in Queen Leonore's presence.  
  
"It was made very clear to him that demons were widespread and searching, Ophir! He knew the risks. He is the one who went out on his own to live in isolation-"  
  
"And the queen did not forbid him from ever returning," Keziah interjects, voice firm and almost sweet. The mention of their queen tempers Gideon, reminds him of his boundaries. She knows he will be sore with her for some time; let him. She's cast suspicious looks his way, too.  
  
"You two are to head south. Now. He cannot stay here, not when there are no gargoyles to ensure the humans are safe - and that he does not fall into Naberius' hands." And then he is stone and inhuman, wings taking him high into the sky with one beat, far from the village in only a few more.  
  
It was a good night. Too good to last.  


* * *

  
  
Keziah understands Gideon's distrust. She understands his hesitation to accept letting Adam be free, his reasons for wanting to lock Adam away or destroy him. It almost disturbs her how easily she understands, and she cannot meet Ophir's eyes for some time after they watch their brief friend storm away once they inform him of Gideon's demands, that it's for his sake and not just the humans'.  
  
The guard that had been lowered lifts again, stronger and thicker and more stubborn than ever; Keziah recognizes the look, has felt it within her own soul.  
  
What does that say about her? That she understands Gideon's distrust of someone she sees much of herself in?  
  
It is too heavy to dwell on; too many questions, too many doubts, too many fears of baseless what ifs. These are things that plague humans, that they must overcome, not gargoyles of the holy order, given their very purpose by the highest of archangels himself. So she turns her mind elsewhere, to straight ahead, where she and Ophir must go.  
  
South.  
  
Once, only once, she glances back. She can just barely make out the moving figure of Adam through the thick foliage of the woods.  
  
Heading north.  
  
She meets Ophir's eyes, briefly, and then looks only forward for the rest of their flight.  


* * *

  
  
"Alone tonight? I did not think it was possibly for you and Ophir to leave each other's sides."  
  
There is a bite to Adam's words, gruff and rumbling from the blackness of the woods at night as he steps out into the clearing where the cemetery and church grounds reside. There is a bite born from a hurt only familiarity could breed, and Keziah remembers that night, mere decades ago, when she and Ophir and Adam found solace from the weariness of existence in nothing but each other's words and laughter.  
  
It is easy for Keziah to grow cold and hard as stone - though she is currently flesh and always light, always holy. She has lived too long this life of the holy fight and all its casualties; there is a quiet voice that sounds much as she did when Michael first placed light and love into her soulless statue that reminds her Adam may not be so different.  
  
"We are not joined at the hip, Adam." She should not be so angry, but it hurts to know that she and Ophir are more obvious than they realize. It hurts to be reminded that they are always together and yet never can be. "What of you? Back from your own exile so quickly this time?" There is still ash on her weapons that need cleaning, an activity that fascinates her as she walks back to the sanctuary she and Ophir have been stationed at for the last year.  
  
"I have been descending demons the past few years in this area. Lately not as many have made it that far." He shuffles after her, falling into stride once near. "I decided to see if new faces at the church might be the cause." His head turns in her direction; she catches the movement from the corner of her vision. His voice has lost most of its bite when he speaks again. "Is it only you?"  
  
The curiousness and hesitation in the question melts away a little of Keziah's ice; she cannot fight the small quirk of her lips.  
  
"Why, Adam, are you worried Ophir might not be here? Or worse?"  
  
His jaw clenches and he turns away at the teasing humor of her tone. The bite returns. "By your cavalier response I take it I can assume otherwise?"  
  
Keziah is perhaps more surprised by her laughter than Adam. She cannot remember the last time she has truly laughed - but if she lets herself, later, she will recall it was the last time she was with Adam - but it is amusing and relieving to know she is not the only one so taken with Ophir. She twists around in her steps to walk backwards, facing her once 'friend for the night.' "I can assure you Ophir is well and also near. He is simply on perimeter check to make sure no demons slipped through our defenses tonight." She reaches out, once again surprising them both, and places her hand on Adam's shoulder. "I mean no offense, Adam. Forgive me; you are not the only one whose feathers are so easily ruffled."  
  
Adam looks at her hand and then back to her face. At first it seems as though he is about to forcibly remove her hand when instead he says, "I would think ruffling feathers of stone would be more difficult." And then, a miracle - he smiles.  
  
Keziah cannot help but notice how human he looks when he smiles. She gives his shoulder a playful squeeze and once again faces forward, slipping into the church instead of scaling its walls. "One would think. I'll try not make it so easy, at least for the rest of the night."  


* * *

  
  
Ophir returns to find Keziah and Adam sitting within the small rooms above the sanctuary, meant as living quarters for the priest but long since used for storage once a slightly more spacious home had been donated for rectory. He finds them sitting at a table, only flickering candle for light and the easiness of camaraderie for warmth.  
  
He is startled by the sight, to be sure, but quickly settles himself with them. There is a lightness to Keziah's eyes he has not seen in some time, and an absence of tension in Adam that he knows must come as a relief. It is something he would very much like to enjoy more often.  
  
They sit and talk, perhaps a little more open than the last time, despite the few decades and the curt ending to that night together. They relax - a welcome change - and converse until wax is dripping onto the floorboards and the flames are reaching the wicks' ends. And in the morning Ophir and Keziah leave Adam to rest and take their places perched high atop the church.  
  
This time there is no Gideon. This time Adam stays with them for days, until they grow well accustomed to each other's presence and voice and smile and heat.  


* * *

  
  
Spring comes within the month, and with it comes new orders, this time on a sister's wings and not their general's.  
  
They part on good terms, as companions, as friends.  
  
Keziah feels Adam's absence like a gust of cold wind through a hole in her chest where all else is warm. She knows Ophir feels the same.  
  
Despite the looks, the quiet warnings of their queen, they grow closer to help hide the missing piece.  


* * *

  
  
This is the way it goes for the next few decades.  
  
Adam ventures to the edges of civilization - something that becomes easier and easier, hiding from it growing more difficult as humans multiply and society expands. He finds the two gargoyles who do not look at him with so much pity and compassion and high hopes or with contempt and distrust and wariness and expectations of the worst. And he lingers in their company for a night to a month; learns what it is to connect.  
  
Learns what it is to be wanted near and enjoyed; what it is to feel affection for others. No longer desperate aches for things he has only witnessed but does not know. He remembers his blinding, maddening need for a mate, for one like him - for his own Eve.  
  
It has been so long, he can scarcely recall the depth of his rage and loneliness.  
  
Where once there was a creator-father who immediately shunned him and an empty pit where a soul should be, gnawing until he had innocent blood on his hands and still not satisfied, there is now Keziah and Ophir.  
  
Now there are playful taunts and merciless but thorough training - and the first time he lost himself in the fight and let slip the anger that had always fueled his attacks, the first time he had his hands on her too slight frame, so familiar, she brought him back to himself, pinned to the ground. And he had felt the shame and the guilt and remembered lifeless eyes; but Keziah was alive and warm and forgiving.  
  
Now there are quiet meditations and quick laughs - and now Adam has found himself a partner to talk philosphy and religion and history and politics with, and he remembers kindness from old hands and blind eyes, taken too quickly to make a difference. But Ophir is a constant, always finding his way back into Adam's life no matter how often he and Keziah leave it.  
  
And in the wake of the loneliness, of the trembling, shaking rage, of the guilt and despair and resentment and bitterness, comes the fear; that one day all he has gained will be taken, leaving that empty pit gnawing and hungry again.  
  
He has no soul, only Ophir and Keziah, and he is not sure what will happen should he lose them.  


* * *

  
  
"You could always come back with us, Adam." Ophir is cautiously optimistic, extending the offer for the first time in what must be thirty years, at least.  "Put what you've learned to more use. Descend more demons. Maybe make another friend, even."  
  
The three of them chuckle at that together. They stand side by side, Ophir to Adam's left and Keziah to his right, upon the roof of the latest sanctuary the pair of gargoyles have been sent to.  
  
"The two of you are friends enough. I wouldn't know what to do with anymore," Adam replies, voice warm - but it is obvious he still will not come with them.  
  
Keziah tries not to look or sound disappointed. She knew what his answer would be. "The queen would be delighted to see how you've grown. The man you've become."  
  
Adam gives her a sideways look, but Keziah merely quirks an eyebrow. "You are a man, Adam. Manmade, it seems immortal, and nearly as strong as a gargoyle. But still a man. Not a monster or merely a creature."  
  
"I am not sure Gideon would see it that way."  
  
Ophir snorts, takes a step closer to Adam. "Gideon is stubborn, hardened by his position as our military leader. He feels the weight of this war more than most of us, and sometimes he lets that influence him too much. Not unlike someone else I know." Ophir's gaze drifts to Keziah, who merely watches the sun rising in the horizon. "But he will listen to the queen, and he will come around."  
  
"And until he does, simply ignore him. Unlike us, you can get away with him," Keziah remarks dryly, in a way Adam cannot help but smirk at.  
  
"Lucky me?"  
  
"Oh yes," Keziah says with a dramatic tilt of her head. "Extremely lucky. Blessed even."  
  
He smiles still, but Keziah can feel Adam retreating within himself. It is not the same as the first couple of times all those years ago; he does not pull back and quickly rebuild his walls, raise all his defenses, shut them out completely. He does not push them away so much as hold them at arms length where once they were linked together. He is not ready.  
  
Ophir and Keziah do not push the subject more, do not try to get closer and force him to withdraw far from them. But their hearts are heavy when they fall into the east blowing wind, stone wings taking them too high for any mortal to see, even if their human senses would allow it.  
  
Keziah glances back once, and sees Adam still on the edge of the roof.  
  
Standing still.  


* * *

  
  
It is Ophir who makes the decision to go further than their orders given. It is Ophir who comes to her with talk of acting rashly, the way she has done many times over countless centuries, with him following after to make certain she does not get herself ascended. It is Ophir that says they should go deeper to find out the demons' plans, do whatever it takes to discover what it is Naberius wants with Adam.  
  
Keziah is not familiar with being the voice of reason and restraint, and she does not start now, not when she agrees so heartily.  
  
It is not a naive belief that Adam will be forever safe if Naberius is finally, at long last, defeated or his plans at least ruined. More demons always come, and another great fallen one will rise to take Naberius' place. But the setback would be more damage than they have done in at least a thousand years, and would buy Adam time to adjust to the human world as more than an observer like them.  
  
They do not know when giving Adam a chance to truly live became as much a priority as protecting the mortals; when it became a shared mission between them. But it has happened, and so they venture farther from sacred ground than is wise, and they remember what it is to move among shadows and not cast them from above. They hunt down demon after demon, questioning before descending, searching for answers.  
  
It feels pointless, fruitless, endless.  
  
And then, they happen upon a demon with the perfect amount of knowledge and cowardice. Now they finally have their answers.  


* * *

  
  
They fly fast to where they had last left Adam, fly farther north than that and search. They must get to him before Naberius - before any others - finally overcome him. There is fear in them; something not so unlike what they feel for each other when in battle, not so unlike the terror Ophir had felt following after Keziah as she stormed directly into a horde of demons, not so unlike the terror Keziah had felt when the ensuing battle nearly cost Ophir his eyes and possibly more.  
  
It is possible they are committing treason, rushing to find Adam before going to Gideon and Queen Leonore with this new information. But any hesitation could be fatal.  
  
It matters little that Adam has survived so long on his own. It matters little that the demons plainly were unaware of his location at the time Keziah and Ophir had discovered the scope of Naberius' plans.  
  
All that matters is finding Adam, knowing he is safe, keeping it that way.  


* * *

  
  
"We know why Naberius wants you." Ophir does not waste words once they find their friend and land near the cramped, crumbling shack abandoned to the wild that Adam seems to call home for the time being. He strides quickly towards the immortal, Keziah landing and following fast.  
  
Adam, for his part, does not greet them with any indication this breach in their routine is unwelcome, though perhaps surprised - at least until Ophir speaks. He stands from the shelter of the doorway, trudging forward through the snow to meet them. "What? Why do they keep hunting me?"  
  
"They think you are soulless," Keziah answers as they reach him. "Because humans have souls, gifted to them by God, demons cannot possess them without consent, be it knowing or forced. They must still gain permission somehow. They think you, what you are, is a way to cheat this."  
  
Beside her, Ophir nods. "Naberius intends to find a way of reanimating bodies, much like your creator did. But his scientists haven't been able to successfully replicate the method. He thinks you're the key, and intends to use you as a vessel for another powerful demon. Any army of demons possessing your strength and longevity."  
  
Adam is silent, tense and tightly drawn, like a bow ready to loose an arrow. There is rage in his eyes, an anger that had been quieted and soothed for over almost a century now. His hands are shaking, clenched; the air around him electric.  
  
Ophir reaches forward, grips their friend's shoulder. "You are not soulless, Adam."  
  
"How do you know that?" He pulls away, shoves the arm on his shoulder off, and for a moment he is the angry, snarling creature again, abused and wild as an caged animal. All passion and emotion and no logic behind it, no thought, no control. "Am I not an abomination? Am I not a creation of hubris, in defiance of God Himself? My own flesh is not truly mine, my body is stitched corpses of so many men, and you say I have a soul!" There is rage in his voice, but it is not the rage that makes them hurt for him so; it is the pain.  
  
They stand there, silent and calm in the face of his anger, and they move close to him as one, each reaching out to touch him, comfort him; give him the reassurance of physical contact that he desires so, like so many humans do. Ophir again lays a hand on his shoulder, and Keziah threads her fingers through Adam's.  
  
"You are Adam. And though you were made by man and not born of the womb, you are alive." There is hesitation in Ophir's eyes, something Keziah recognizes; the kind that glitters before he takes a plunge and does something drastic. And then he steps forward, pulling Adam to him, and embraces him. It is more than they have ever given, more than Adam has ever allowed.  
  
Keziah remains where she is, fingers woven with Adam's and nothing more. She does not want to overcrowd him, send him running from the onslaught of emotion and intimacy. She squeezes; that is enough from her for now.  
  
And slowly, ever so slowly, the tension drains from their friend. Adam awkwardly raises his empty arm, glancing at Keziah for guidance, at at her nod returns the embrace.  
  
She is not sure when the three of them became more family than she has allowed herself to be with her gargoyle brothers and sisters outside of Ophir, but suddenly it hits her that they click together, like three pieces of their own strange puzzle - and she cannot take the thought of returning to the incomplete picture again.  


* * *

  
  
The gargoyles remain there, in the seclusion of Adam's home, until the morning.  It is quiet, laughter does not come so easy this time; Adam is not so overwhelmed with emotion, his passions no longer brimming over. But he wordlessly give them signals he needs space, needs to be left to his own thoughts.  
  
It is quite the revelation. Keziah cannot imagine how he feels; she and Ophir know little outside of their interactions with Adam, their observations of humans, their experiences through the war. Perhaps they did not hide in the cold, barren wilderness, but have they truly lived anymore than Adam?  
  
She, nor Ophir, can know what it is like for Adam. They are not alone, no matter how many brothers and sisters they've lost. They cannot be possessed; they are made entirely of righteous light and of love and of strength dedicated to the cause. They are stone and then they are flesh, but they are not human.  
  
In some ways they are less than, despite their immortality and strength.  
  
Keziah watches Adam and knows Ophir is right. Their friend is not some soulless monster. He is so much more than the sum of his parts, and when she looks at Ophir, she knows he feels the same. It is their holy duty to merely keep Adam out of Naberius' hands; it is their love for Adam that means they will go to any lengths to protect him from the demon prince.  
  
They are compromised now more than ever.  


* * *

  
  
It has been over two hundred years since Leonore last saw the creature she named Adam. She had hope for him, so much hope. Perhaps her compassionate streak was a moment of weakness, as she knew Gideon believed; but when she looks into the eyes of Frankenstein's creation, standing there between two of her most valiant and dedicated warriors, she knows.  
  
She smiles, warmly, and steps forward to take hold of Adam's hands. "Welcome, Adam. It is good to see you well."  
  
There is look of relief shared between Keziah and Ophir, and Gideon is unhappy but silent. And Adam - with his neatly combed hair and clean clothes and restrained demeanor, barely even recognizable to the Adam she named - gives a stilted bow of his head. "Your majesty."  
  
Leonore glances to Ophir, then Keziah, and then back to Adam. "I can see there is much to discuss. But I am glad that you have returned."  
  
Her decision of mercy was the right one.  


* * *

  
  
The demon attack, though expected, still strikes them hard. It is not long before word spread that Victor Frankenstein's creation was now kept safe in the gargoyle stronghold, and though Leonore's prayers seemed to be answered as new gargoyles were born from once lifeless statues from across the globe, Naberius seemed willing to sacrifice as many - perhaps even all - of his soldiers as it took to get to Adam.  
  
They come in waves, crashing over and over, until it seems as though the cathedral's walls are flooded.  
  
Ophir and Keziah were granted their request to be Adam's personal guardians, and they are grateful to be stationed with him, the three of them ready and waiting with their weapons drawn.  
  
Queen Leonore prays for reinforcements, for more strength, for any mercy or blessing they could be granted.  
  
Gideon leads the defenses, slaughtering two demons for every gargoyle light he witnesses ascending.  
  
Adam, for his part, is ready, waiting; eager. To descend every demon coming for him; to fight his way through all the way to Naberius himself. He has never known anger like this before; focused, targeted, no longer wild and unrestrained.  
  
When the demons reach their door and batter at it with their human vessels, it is almost a relief. Finally. He's ready when the first demon pushes through, his weapons - the ones Ophir had claimed were too blunt, too heavy for him to wield but he had grown very skilled at using to bludgeon many demons back to Hell - coming down hard.  
  
Fighting alongside Keziah and Ophir, it is not hard to understand how close they had grown; there is something to fighting beside another, being partnered with someone in battle. The three of them fight one on one against their enemies, and then they are working in tandem, the training the gargoyles had given him making it easy, fluid.  
  
Demon after demon descending, leaving nothing but ash and the stench of sulfur and more demons to descend.  
  
And then he hears it; later, he will not be able to remember if it is Keziah's cry of despair or the soft, shuddered gasp of pain Ophir makes before he is only blinding, white light or his own roar that Adam heard. All he will remember is he heard a noise before turning to see Ophir's face illuminated and then gone in that burst of light, shooting up into the sky, beyond the clouds and the stars themselves.  
  
All he will remember is rushing at the demon with Keziah, the two of them descending it together before turning on the others, the two of them almost blinding but moving together in their grief.  
  
All he will remember is Keziah screaming and falling to the ground as her own light threatened to slip through her back and ascend with Ophir; himself shouting and beating the demon bloody before finally descending it, knowing nothing but the directionless, overwhelming rage when he did nothing but destroy Victor Frankenstein's happiness.  
  
Until there are none left, and he's on his knees before Keziah, her eyes wet with pain and loss and her smile gentle, a little wry, that smile that he has grown to know so well and relish seeing; the same as the open, easy warmness in Ophir's eyes, and the lightness of being with them both.  
  
There is light emanating from the space between her shoulders and the stone she's propped against.  
  
"Take it easy. They're gone. What can I do? Keziah, what can I do?"  
  
She places a hand on his chest, over where his heart still beats and seems as though it will beat forever. "You can live, Adam. Live among your own."  
  
He remembers the pain of watching Victor destroy the body of his would be mate. He remembers the guilt and horror when the life was gone from Elizabeth's eyes, and he hated himself for being the monster Victor called him as much as he hated his father for making him. He remembers when he had realized how important Ophir and Keziah were to him, when the fear had slithered in, cold and tight and permanent; and now it's realized.  
  
"I can't lose you too."  
  
Keziah sighs, tears slipping down her cheeks, and the hand on his chest moved to his cheek. "Ophir was right, Adam. You have a soul. Naberius cannot ever take that from you." With a pained grimace, she leaned forward and pressed that gentle, wry smile to his forehead. "No matter how long it takes, we will be together again."  
  
Adam does not realize he is weeping when the warmth of her body is replaced by that awful, white hot flash of light and then the coldness of her absence. He does not realize he is weeping until Gideon rushes in, calling their names, and finds only Adam.  
  
Neither of them say a word, but Adam knows they're both thinking the same thing; it's his fault.  


* * *

  
  
Adam finds a straggling running off. He beats every piece of information out of the cretin. He finds out where Naberius is hiding, and he descends the demon with perhaps too much enjoyment.  
  
He heads straight for the demon prince's lair, unafraid. He has a soul and an empty pit that's never satisfied, rage in him the likes Naberius could never be prepared for. So he heads for the demon stronghold, ready to tear it down brick by brick all on his own if he has to.  
  
He will kill Prince Naberius.  


* * *

  
  
"Do you really believe you have a soul?" Naberius snarls, towering over Adam. "Did the gargoyles make you think you could be human? You're nothing but a blank slate, an empty vessel your maker kindly, if ignorantly, gifted to us."  
  
His body hurts in ways he's never known, but he sees Ophir, Keziah, their white lights ascending towards Heaven. He stays there and lets Naberius chant, offers only a minimal physical fight to the black smoke of the demon entering his body. And he traps it, swallows it, smothers it. He screams at the agony of it all.  
  
But it's worth it to see the look of confusion, disbelief, rage on Naberius' face when looks up at the demon.  
  
"My name is Adam, and I am not your son." He grabs his dagger, one of Keziah's left behind, and slices up the demon prince's chest, through the three horizontal lines, completing the sacred symbol of Keziah and Ophir's holy order. "I have a soul. And I do not give any of your kind access to it!"  
  
It is fulfilling to see Naberius descend.  
  
It almost satisfies the pit within him, but Adam does not think anything ever will satisfy that again. He settles for this; for grabbing the human scientists and getting them out of the building as the prince's descent takes the demon stronghold with him. He settles for watching it all crumble, for knowing it will set the Hellspawn back decades, maybe centuries.  


* * *

  
  
Leonore finds him later, still staring at the rubble and the gaping hole, as though waiting for any demons to try and crawl their way back up.  
  
"Thank you, for all you have done to help us."  
  
Adam swallows and meets her eyes, gentle and wise and the first to offer him a chance to live. He isn't sure what to say, how to respond, when all he can think of is all the lights he's seen rising up, the gasp of pain before Ophir left, a gentle, wry smile on his forehead before he lost Keziah.  
  
Leonore smiles, sympathetically, sensing; "They would be proud of you."  
  
"Thank you," is all he can muster before finally walking away.  


* * *

  
  
"Someone like you should be careful. There are demons that walk these streets."  
  
Adam turns towards Gideon to see the gargoyle general approaching. He nods in greeting; they aren't on smiling terms yet. He doubts they'll ever get that far, but at least there's a little more tolerance between them. "Not half as many as there used to be. But I guess defeating their prince would give most demons pause to settle here again."  
  
Gideon snorts. "Not all demons are as smart or crafty as Naberius was. You'd be surprised how many of them are blithering idiots."  
  
"After all the ones that came looking for me in the wilderness? I doubt it."  
  
They walk together, not quite comfortable around each other, but there is a truce between them now. Respect, if not quite acceptance.  
  
"I must say, seeing you here is more of a surprise than running into by chance anywhere else." Gideon glances at Adam, hesitating before begrudgingly adding, "Our queen would certainly be pleased to see you again. It's been nearly thirty years."  
  
"Thirty, eh?" Adam realizes he had somewhere along the line lost count. He had thought it had been longer. But then it has been emptier, no matter how much he travels or how much he integrates into human society. The loneliness has returned, though he has tried to do right by Keziah and Ophir. He has tried to live.  
  
"I know I have never made you feel welcomed or even really treated you as more than Frankenstein's unholy creation. But whatever it is you're looking for here, I hope you find it."  
  
It's not really an apology, but then Gideon's sins have always been stubbornness and pride. Ophir and Keziah even vouched for it. It's not an olive branch, but Adam accepts Gideon's words and their sincerity for what they are.  
  
Still.  
  
"Hoping once I do I'll finally settle somewhere permanently and you won't keep bumping into me?"  
  
Gideon sneers, just a touch, but it's not the disdainful expression it once was. "Absolutely." He holds Adam's gaze for a few minutes, then walks forward and out of the alley, where there is room for wings to spread. "Just so long as you don't settle here, of course."  
  
Adam grins. "Of course." He's half tempted to raise a middle finger, but he doesn't think Gideon's lack of a sense of humor would overlook the crude gesture.  He still flips the gargoyle off briefly as he flies towards the cathedral in the distance.  
  
"Now that's not very polite."  
  
The voice is warm, friendly, soothing; welcoming. So familiar but impossible. It's impossible.  
  
Adam turns around, slowly, and wonders if his eyes are at long last failing him. They're overdue, certainly, and the man walking towards him - dressed like any human of his age and this generation would be - cannot possess that voice or that face.  
  
"Pretty sure he knows that," another impossibility says as she steps out from behind the man, the two getting closer - and still Adam's eyes are seeing things that can't be, his ears hearing only what they want to hear, not what is real. But then this woman, in modern human clothing, with Keziah's face and voice and smile laughs. "We're real, Adam. We're real."  
  
There are a thousand and one questions running through his mind, and the most eloquent and thoughtful one his lips finally produce is simply, "How?"  
  
Ophir laughs and claps him on the shoulder, something so familiar that it nearly pains Adam. "Apparently as reward for good service, ascended gargoyles are granted the chance to experience normal, human lives on this earth."  
  
"Fortunately, with our memories still intact," Keziah adds, and takes Adam's hands - her fingers threading through his, and his squeezes tight the moment they do. She laughs, softly, and kisses his cheek. "It's time to live, Adam. All of us."  
  
Adam pulls them both to his chest and breathes in their warmth; the empty pit in him is gone, no longer gnawing and unsatisfied. "Sounds good to me."


End file.
